


Of Empires and Education

by Fabrisse



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-16
Updated: 2011-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:50:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabrisse/pseuds/Fabrisse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The future of Ankh-Morpork is discussed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Empires and Education

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elementalv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementalv/gifts).



Havelock Vetinari looked out the window of the Oblong Office and focused on the distant clacks tower. He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, truly, he had. More than any other person, he knew that Ankh-Morpork skated along the edge of a catastrophe curve, and there was a great deal of effort to keep the forward momentum without everything crashing down around his ears. Vetinari knew what happened to Patricians who let the plates crash to the proverbial floor; it was very often the last sound a Patrician was capable of hearing.

There were again murmurings of royalty, of rightful places. As the Lord Rusts and Selachiis began to make way for their scions, some of the same mistakes would again be considered, if not made. Young de Worde was all right. By working for The Times, he was effectively on the other side of the fray. If the “people,” no matter their species, had a right to know, well, then aristocracy had no right to keep things from them.

Drumknott coughed quietly, and Vetinari turned toward him. His secretary said, “Commander Vimes is here, sir. Shall I have him wait?”

“No need, Drumknott.”

When Vimes came in a moment later, Vetinari indicated a seat on the office’s sofa to him. Vimes stood to attention.

“Reading the clacks directly, Sir?” Vimes managed to look at point just over the Patrician’s left ear.

Vetinari sighed. “Please sit down, Commander. I want to have a discussion between old... comrades-in-arms if not actually friends.”

Vimes looked at him warily and then sat gingerly as far as he could from Mr. Fusspot, Vetinari’s dog, and his embarrassing toy.

Vetinari took a chair. There was a long pause as he gathered his thoughts. “How are the streets? Any problems beyond those of day-to-day policing?”

It was Vimes turn to pause. “Problems? No, nothing beyond the usual domestics and sad little crimes. Most of the inter-species stuff has died down.” He thought a moment longer. “Something is going on with the humans, though. It’s not any of the ordinary scraps either. It’s not _crime_ , but there are discussions that end when I’m around -- even at the Watch Houses.”

“Surely that’s not unusual?”

“It’s unusual that I don’t know _why_ they’ve stopped talking, and, frankly, this isn’t limited to the Watch Houses. It’s happening at dinner parties, too, and I’m pretty sure it’s not just because I’m a -- what’s the phrase -- ‘jumped up copper who doesn’t know his place.’”

“Monarchy.” The word hung in the air.

“Not again. Carrot doesn’t want it, the guilds know better -- hell, the _vampires_ know better -- the aristocracy couldn’t cope with the Count de Nobbs running things...”

“No, but they might be happy with the Duke of Ankh.”

Vimes felt like he’d been poleaxed. “You’re joking.”

“I’m getting older.”

“We all are and you have, what? Less than a decade on me?”

Vetinari sighed. “You’d just be the interim. The issue is issue.”

Vimes took a moment to work it out. “Young Sam?” He selected a cigar from his case and contemplated it.

“Captain Carrot, well, he’s out because no matter how fine a woman Captain Angua is...” Vetinari gave him permission to light-up with a gesture.

“No one can say a word against her pedigree, but it does have a double meaning in her case.”

“Precisely.” Vetinari stroked Mr. Fusspot. “I could retire. I don’t think I should, but it’s certainly better than many of the alternatives -- at least for _my_ continued good health.”

Vimes goggled. “You aren’t actually considering it.”

“Mustrum and Hughnon Ridcully came to me, separately, to sound me out on whether Genua or Quirm might be appealing to me. If their insensitive ears are picking it up, it’s gone far beyond Ting Ling whispers.”

“Cripes.”

“As you say.”

“Look...” He seemed puzzled.

“In the circumstances, call me Havelock.”

Vimes wrapped his brain around being on first name terms with the Patrician. It always threw him for a small loop when Sybil used it. He took a deep breath. “Havelock. You know I don’t want it.”

“It may be thrust upon you. I think one reason you and your son are so attractive is that Susan, Duchess of Sto Helit, has just had a daughter. People are thinking of dynasties and empires. It’s one reason that I considered including your lady wife in the conversation, but, she wouldn’t understand why you would be as poor a Patrician as I would be a copper.”

Vimes raised an eyebrow at that. “I could barely keep The People’s Republic of Treacle Mine Road running for two days, but more than that...”

“More than that, you’re a policeman. You see crime. It’s your passion, and you are good at finding it out. Human foibles are not something you tolerate, Sam.”

“No. Not even my own. Did you say the Guilds were considering this? Seriously?”

“I have the Beggars Guild on my side, but Queen Molly may not last much longer. She needs less make-up to look bad these days. The seamstresses, the needle workers, and the exotic dancers are still firmly on my side.”

Vimes contemplated Lord Vetinari's pre-Patrician life for a moment. He said,“Assassins?”

“I’m an alumnus, and they understand me. But if the wind changed sufficiently, they might accept the commission. I’m careful, but I’m nowhere near as young as I was.”

“Who is, Havelock, who is?”

Vetinari let the silence stretch for a minute or two. “Where will your son be going to school?”

Vimes blinked. “This isn’t a change of subject, is it?”

“You’ve become more of a politician. No, Sam, it isn’t.”

“Sybil and I disagree on the subject.”

Vetinari wondered if Vimes knew how his voice softened when his wife or son was mentioned. Even when speaking of a disagreement, it was hushed with awe. “I know,” he said.

Vimes didn’t even wonder how he knew. “I take it you agree with Sybil? The Assassins’ Guild has the best education?”

“No. I agree with you. Young Sam is compassionate and kind. Everything I have heard, and not just from his proud parents, indicates he has the mind of an artificer or alchemist. Those could all be useful traits in a Patrician.”

Vimes jaw dropped. “What?”

“I agree with you that your son should attend Miss Frout's school and have tutors, perhaps a year or two at a school in Quirm or Genua for polish when he’s older. I’d like to suggest some tutors for him.”

“Um...”

Vetinari met Vimes eyes. “I know you don’t believe in inherited rule or titles. I don’t much either, but there’s something to be said for having a ruler who’s been trained for the position. And, the most important part of the training, from my point of view, would be why Ankh-Morpork does not want to be an empire again.”

Vimes sat puzzling for a minute or two. “I know I’m thick, but surely an empire might have...” A flat raised hand stopped him.

“Right now, we get the best of Quirm or Klatch or the Sto Plains coming to Ankh-Morpork to find their livelihoods. Some don’t and return home. Some do and return home with new ideas. Some do and stay here in poverty. But a surprising number 'make it.' They spark new ideas and industries. They find better lives than they would ‘back home,’ and their stories inspire others in Bonk or Lancre to come and try their fortune in the Big Wahoonie. The second we listen to men in their anecdotage talking about the glory of empire, we have to export some of those bright minds to our borders -- because gods help us, if we send only the ones who are too venal or short thinking to stay here. If there’s a war between Djelibeybi and Klatch, do we care? Not right now. We trade with both sides, and no one fires at our ships. But if that becomes a war on our empire’s border...?”

“I see. And that’s what the aristocracy is trying to bring back. That’s their finger in the succession pie.”

Vetinari inclined his head. “An apt phrase.”

“I want Sam to share my values.”

“I noticed you went back to live in three rooms on Cockbill Street as soon as he was born.”

Vimes started to remonstrate, before sighing and saying, “You’re right. I want a better life for my son, and I don’t think that includes putting him in your chair. Couldn’t Lady Margolotta help you out?”

“I don’t think immortality would suit me.” A thin smile touched his lips. “Maybe it would help if I told you the names of your son’s tutors?”

It took a moment, but then Vimes nodded. “Captains Carrot and Angua for history and a real knowledge of the city, Grag Bashfullson for a better understanding of dwarf culture, and whomever the Diamond King recommends for troll culture would be the first ones. If you would be willing to let him learn Thud from me, say, once a week, it would be appreciated. I may even have someone who could teach him about artificing around here. As he gets older and he develops more of his own interests, other tutors might be assigned, with yours and Lady Sybil’s approval, of course.”

Vimes looked at him, sharply. “That’s it? A weekly Thud game and a few hours a week walking around the city learning dwarf and troll culture?”

“Yes. I don’t even expect him to marry into the Sto Helit family,” Vetinari said. “By letting it be known that I’m guiding your son’s education, it will ease my situation. In other people’s eyes, there is a successor coming up. That helps me. If young Sam shows an aptitude for Patricianing, it might help the city. At the very least, he’ll have a well rounded cultural education which should ease the tension between you and your lady regarding his schooling. Most importantly, it keeps Ankh-Morpork progressing. You don’t want to see it return to a monarchy. I don’t want to see it return to an empire. No one sane wants to see it return to the kind of oligarchy we had with my predecessors and the Unmentionables. The one thing you and I fully agree on is that crimes are public, so there should be no secret police.”

“Yes. Never again. Not in my...your...”

“ _This_ city,” Vetinari completed.

“I’ll speak to Sybil tonight.” Vimes rose. “I’ll also talk to Willikins and Sam. Purity can teach him the governess stuff like numbers and reading for now. But my son gets his say, too.”

Vetinari stood, too, and extended his hand. There was a moment of hesitation, and then Vimes shook it. Afterward, he stood to attention. Vetinari said, “Dismissed, Commander.”

“Thank you, Sir.”


End file.
